


My Way Home Is Through You

by aerye



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Reality, Angst, Call of the Wild - Freeform, M/M, Mountie on the Bounty, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 08:44:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2766896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerye/pseuds/aerye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ButterflyGhost asked for Angst, Breakup Sex, Happy Ending, Jealousy, Makeup Sex, and Pining. I just changed the order a bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Way Home Is Through You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ButterflyGhost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/gifts).



> Thank you to A., who isn't in fandom and had no idea what she was getting into when she agreed to beta this story. Not the least of which was listening to me give a lengthy and impassioned account of two Rays and a Mountie. 
> 
> Also to ride_4ever, who did additional mop-up beyond the call of duty!
> 
> I'm tagging this alternative reality because it plays fast and loose with canon in some notable places.

**Angst**

_Ray Kowalski_

The feds had picked him up in a shitty nondescript car and drove him to the outskirts of Chicago, to an equally shitty little motel where apparently they had Vecchio tucked away in a shitty little nondescript room. The walls were beige; the furniture was beige. The carpet probably used to be beige, although now it was sort of an ugly, muddy brown mess, with black tracks from too many footprints from the door to the john and the bed.

The coffee was shitty too. And cold. And they were going on their third day of this.

"You think we could find something that was more like—y’know—actual coffee? And maybe even lukewarm?"

Vecchio grinned. It was only about the third happy face Ray’d seen since he walked in the door. Mostly Vecchio looked tired. Sometimes anxious. Ray got the impression they were grilling him pretty hard when Ray wasn’t around, and sometimes even when he was there—twenty question drills about shit like what Langoustini’s favorite restaurant was, and how he drank his scotch. There was a big, flashy ring on his right hand, with a diamond the size of a dime and Mob written all over it, and he played with it a lot, like he was still getting used to it being there. Given the size, the weight was probably throwing him off. Ray could see his finger was red and swollen from messing with it. 

"Based on my experience over the last three weeks? No." Vecchio jerked his head in the direction of the FBI agent who’d spent the last three days sitting off in the corner of the room, saying nothing and doing nothing, except to check Ray’s ID and pat him down every time he came in. "Edgar J. over there can’t seem to figure out how to do that. Needless to say, it’s giving me incredible peace of mind about my protection that he can’t manage this seemingly simple task."

"My name isn’t Edgar J.," the FBI agent said stonily. "And I don’t fetch coffee. I carry a gun."

Ray raised his eyebrow and gave Vecchio an _are-you-kidding-me-what-the-actual-fuck_ look.

"Cheery, isn’t he?" Vecchio sighed and rubbed his hands over face. "So. What else can I tell you? Family? Friends? I did warn you to stay upwind of Detective Dewey after lunch, right?"

"Fraser." He’d been trying to figure out a way to ask without asking since yesterday, but the question kept nagging at him and he figured there just wasn’t any way to pussyfoot around with it.

"Benny?" Vecchio shifted in his chair. He picked up his cup, started to take a sip, grimaced and set it down again. "What else can I tell you? You got my reports. He’s a good cop in his own way, even if he does have an unfortunate habit of announcing he doesn’t have a gun during a shoot-out with the bad guys. You make him keep his head down and you learn to like pemmican, and you’ll be fine." 

"Okay, yeah, but— See, here’s the thing. I read your reports. I listen to you talk about him. I talk to Welsh. And I mean—" He glanced over at the FBI guy, then lowered his voice. "I get this feeling, okay? Like you and him were— I mean, were you and him—?"

Vecchio drew in a half-breath and held it, then let it out slowly. He turned his head to look out past the shitty beige curtain and the stained sheers, to the pool in the motel courtyard. "No," he finally said. "No."

"No? Doesn’t sound like a no." He turned to the FBI guy again, still hanging around in the shadows. "Look, can we have a private conversation here?"

"I’m not supposed to leave the room." Ray thought maybe he was hiding a smirk under that G-man stone face, but he decided not to think too hard about it because then he might need to punch him in the face.

"Fine." He rubbed his hand over his chin. "Look, I’m not, y’know, homophobic or anything, but I just need to be clear I didn’t sign up for that. I got an ex-wife and I’m trying to change that situation and the last thing I need is people thinking—"

"I said no, okay?" Vecchio twisted the big ring on his finger again, pulled it off and pushed it back on again. "We weren’t."

"Cause, really— " He didn’t want to be difficult—he didn't—and normally it wasn't like he'd mind a walk on the wild side, but— "—if that’s the case then you guys need to find yourselves another Vecchio, all right?"

"We weren’t," Vecchio repeated. He stood up and moved closer to the window.

"Get away from the windows," the FBI guy said. "You wanna get shot?"

"Maybe," Vecchio muttered, but he reversed direction and came back to the table, and sat down again. He leaned toward Ray, and Ray leaned in as well. Vecchio kept his voice low. "We weren’t, all right? We didn’t. But if you really need to know, maybe I might have wished occasionally— " He stopped, shook his head and started again. "Maybe we were—"

"Maybe you were what?" Ray demanded, voice just as low.

"Maybe we might have. Okay? If this hadn’t come up. Maybe we were sort of on that road. I think. But we didn’t get there so it doesn't matter."

"Like hell it doesn’t matter," Ray shot back in a whisper. "Is he gonna be expecting me to go down that road with him, cause really—"

"Jesus, Kowalski—!" Vecchio barked out a laugh and sat back. He was no longer trying to be quiet. "You actually are an actual different person, right? And Fraser isn’t an idiot, right? _He’s_ gonna know you aren’t me. He isn’t gonna wanna jump in the sack with you because you're wearing my name, okay? Doesn’t work that way."

"I’m just saying, if I had to pretend something to keep the cover— "

"Well you don’t. So don’t fucking worry about it. Jesus, this thing is fucking ugly," Vecchio said to no one in particular, yanking the ring off his finger and tossing it onto the table. It bounced, and left a small scratch on the fake wood surface. The FBI agent opened his mouth to object but stopped himself at the look on Vecchio’s face. 

Vecchio took another deep breath. "So what else do you need to know?"

**Breakup Sex**

_Ray Kowalski_

The kiss tasted of anger and regret. And pain, physical and otherwise. Ray really hadn't meant for it to happen. The left side of his face still stung from the impact of Fraser's fist. The punch earlier that night was supposed to put an end to it, all of it, the partnership and the sex, and the hopes and dreams that had taken root against his will and better sense. They were done.

Except for somehow they weren't. Except for somehow here he was, backed up against the cracked porcelain sink in a crummy little all-night gas station and kissing Fraser like he was drowning, his hand down the back of Fraser's pants and his naked dick hard, riding the soft wool of Fraser's trousers. 

They'd put the pedal to the metal. I-290 West to I-94 East, to I-196 North, until sometime just before Grand Rapids when Ray's desperation for caffeine, and the level of the gas gauge, teamed up with his bladder to demand they stop.

It was after midnight—there wasn't much open. Ray took the first exit after he saw a huge sign towering over the highway that read _GAS_.

"Why are we—?"

"We need gas," Ray said shortly. "And I need to pee."

"Ah." After a moment, Fraser nodded. "I feel the need to urinate as well."

Ray clenched his jaw so hard that it hurt. "See, that's the difference between us right there in a nutshell, Fraser. I pee and you urinate."

"Well, actually Ray, 'pee' is just another way of saying—"

"Fraser, do not finish that sentence. I was answering your question, not starting a conversation."  
"Understood."

Ray pulled up to the gas pump and opened the car door. He looked around. There was a small sign with an arrow that read _Men's_. "I'm going to the can." He started toward the bathroom.

"I'll pump the gas," he heard Fraser say.

"Yeah, you do that."

He peed quickly. The bathroom was dark, with just one bare bulb above the sink. The place looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in the last decade; the log on the back of the door said "Lewis A." at 2:38 p.m. on March 14, 1991. Ray figured Lewis A. probably had a real broad interpretation of what "cleaning" meant.

Still, there was water in the tap. Ray cupped his hands and splashed his face, trying to wash away the sleepiness. There was a knock at the door. He rolled his eyes.

"It ain’t locked, Fraser," he said, pulling it open.

"I was merely trying to respect your privacy, Ray." Fraser had shed his uniform jacket and pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, baring his forearms. Ray looked away.

"I’m a regular guy, Fraser, not a Canadian. I don’t give a damn who I pee in front of." Ray shoved past him to leave the bathroom.

"Ray—" 

And that’s when it all got crazy. Fraser reached out to put a hand on his arm to stop him—exactly why, Ray didn’t know. Maybe it was to give another one of his non-apologies; maybe it was to tell him Fraser couldn’t figure out how to work the pump and the tank still needed filling. Whatever the reason, one minute Fraser was just trying to slow him down and the next he was backing Ray up against the sink, the cracked porcelain sink Lewis A. had cleaned back in 1991, and kissing him. And Ray was pulling him in, kissing him back like his life depended on it, which Ray was afraid it did, and if that was the case he didn’t know how he was going to survive when Fraser transferred and went away.

"Ray." Fraser’s voice was low and urgent in his ear.

"Don’t say anything," Ray pleaded. "Don’t talk."

"But—"

"That’s where we always get into trouble. You talk and I get mad and—" When Fraser looked like he was gonna keep talking anyway, Ray kissed him again, and kept kissing him so he couldn’t.

The sex was frantic. Fast. Rough. Hands, mostly, because there wasn’t room for much else, or time. Fraser’s grip was strong and sure, the way it always was. That had been kind of a surprise. Ray didn’t expect Fraser to just get in there and go for it, but he figured out real quick that there was a side to Fraser that didn’t fit into a neat little box marked "polite". Fraser was good with his hands and his mouth and his dick—it was just the words that got fucked up.

Fraser dragged his mouth away. Ray chased it, a whine in the back of his throat, but Fraser ducked his head, avoiding it, and turned Ray to face the mirror. Ray looked up and he could see himself, eyes dark, face flushed, mouth swollen and wet from Fraser’s, and he looked scary even to himself. Fraser looked just as wild, hair a mess and standing on end from Ray’s grasping hands, face just as flushed, eyes just as dark. Ray moaned and looked away.

He could hear Fraser wrestle with his trousers and then felt Fraser's dick hard up against his ass. Ray arched his back and bit off another moan, Fraser’s teeth a dull pain on the back of his neck, and then Fraser’s hand on him again, jerking him hard and sweet the way Fraser knew he liked it. Ray realized how ridiculous this was, fucking in a shitty bathroom at a rundown gas station behind an unlocked door, where anyone could walk in on them at any time, and then that thought got lost because he was there, _there_ , Jesus, _sweet_ , so fucking sweet, and he shuddered as he came all over the edge of the sink and even onto the floor. Fraser's hips kept driving hard against his ass and then he stiffened as he came too, wet and slick against Ray’s back.

"Shit. Shit." Ray pulled away, tripping over his jeans, which were still around his ankles. He jerked back again when Fraser reached out to break his fall and banged his elbow against the wall. "Shit."  
"Ray—"

"No. No, do not say anything Fraser. That was— We shouldn't have—" He turned his face away. "We should not have done that. That was stupid. That was just—dumb."

Fraser was silent. After a moment Ray straightened and pulled up his jeans. He took a couple of paper towels from the dispenser and wiped himself off before tucking his dick away and zipping up. Fraser cleaned up as well.

They left the bathroom silently. Ray went in to pay and got an evil eye from the guy behind the counter. "What the fuck's your problem?" he snarled. The guy just shook his head disgustedly and put Ray's cash into his register, slamming it shut.

"Where's my change?" Ray demanded.

"Where's your boyfriend?" the guy sneered.

"Look, you do not want to mess with me," Ray said. "I am in a very bad mood, and you can either give me my money or I can kick you in the head and then you can give me my money. Now what's it gonna be?"

"Trouble?" Fraser asked, when Ray got back to the car, a black coffee in one hand and red knuckles on the other.

Ray tossed a bottle of water in Fraser's lap. "No." He started the car.

"Ray?" Fraser asked, after a few seconds passed and Ray didn't pull out. "Ray, I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have—"

Ray set his jaw again and looked at him. "We're done, okay Fraser? From now on, it's just the case. You and me—you and me, we're done. It's just the way it's gotta be."

After a moment Fraser nodded. "Very well. We're done."

**Pining**

_Ray Vecchio_

_Thank you for calling the Canadian Consulate, Constable Benton Fraser speaking. How may I assist you?_

Ray held his breath.

_Hello? Excuse me—is there someone there?_

"Your buttermilk, Mr. Langoustini." Nero placed the small silver tray with the ice-cold glass of buttermilk on the desk next to Ray’s elbow. "And Misters Agosti and Rafferti would like a few minutes of your time."

_Hello? I’m sorry but is there anyone there? Perhaps if you could speak up. I’m having difficulty hear—_

Ray replaced the receiver gently. He took a long sip of the buttermilk, then nodded. "Sure. Give me a few minutes, then show them in."

"Yes, sir."

"Nero?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Make sure you take their guns."

**Makeup Sex**

_Ray Kowalski_

"So—you and Vecchio—" Ray paused. It wasn't the kind of question you wanted to ask directly. Or indirectly even. Or even at all, come to think of it—

_Déjà-fucking-vu all over again._

But it wasn’t like he hadn’t been here before, and since he'd seen Vecchio on the other side of that door in the hotel he'd known he'd have to ask the question, sooner or later. 

"Yes, Ray?" Fraser turned from the fire to look at him. The heat had brought up the color in his face and melted the ice crystals that had formed on his coat. "Ray Vecchio and I?" 

"Yeah." It was his turn to find the fire fascinating. "So, okay. I mean. I know you and I have been—well, we’ve been— " He gestured awkwardly between them in the universal sign for _we’re bumping-boots-having-sex-fucking-each-other_. "Well, what we’ve been."

Fraser frowned and tilted his head, then straightened, and the color in his face deepened. He cleared his throat and poked unnecessarily at the fire. "Ray—"

"No, listen to me. You need to hear me out. I know how Vecchio feels about you—I mean he told me before he left even—and I'm guessing I know how you feel about him, seeing how you reacted when you saw him again in Chicago—"

"It is true I was very happy to see Ray again— I'm sorry—Ray Vecchio told you how he feels about me?"

"Yeah, the guy told me all about the two of you, and how maybe you didn’t quite get where you were going but you were headed there—"

"Where we were headed?" Fraser looked confused. "I'm sorry, Ray, I don't mean to be obtuse but—"

"Would you just let me finish? Yeah, so he tells me before I’m even really in the picture how he feels about you, and that you feel the same way, but just that you, like, ran out of time because of the Vegas thing. And maybe I should’ve respected that and not—but that doesn’t matter now anyway because I didn’t, and you and me—we got together, right? And maybe you were just marking time until Vecchio was back—"

"Ray—"

"—but we got a thing going here now and I’m just trying to—It’s like nothing is the same anymore, now that he’s back—I’m not me anymore."

Fraser's frown deepened. "You're not you—?"

"Or I am me, but I got used to being Vecchio, except my version of Vecchio. If that makes any sense. And now he’s back and Welsh says I’m Stanley Kowalski—except I don’t wanna be Stanley Kowalski, right? I wanna be Ray Kowalski but I’m not sure what that means anymore, and if you’re gonna go be partners with Vecchio again then I need to figure out—"

"Ray. Ray. RAY."

"Right. Okay. Shutting up. Just—just I need to know, right? So I can figure out what I’m supposed to do now. So you just need to tell me. Just need to say it out straight."

"Very well. It is true that when I was working with Ray Vecchio we developed a certain—" Fraser traced his eyebrow with his thumb, the way he usually did when he was nervous "It was a very good partnership, you see, and I came to feel, that is we both came to feel, a certain—connection."

"A connection."

"I came to care for him very much."

Ray lost it. "Caring, schmaring, Fraser—give it to me straight. Did you love the guy? Do you love the guy?"

"Yes."

Breathing suddenly hurt. Ray wondered if he looked as stupid as he felt. "Yes. Right. Of course you did. Do. I knew that." He looked away. "Okay. Okay." Air. He needed air. "So, okay, look—I'm gonna—" He gestured vaguely in a direction that was away from Fraser. "—go there. And, uh—"

"Ray. Ray." Fraser put a hand on his arm.

He pulled away. " _What?!_ "

"Ray, listen to me." Fraser's voice held a quiet urgency. "I told you there was a time when I was—unmoored—right?" Ray nodded reluctantly. "You need to understand. Ray Vecchio opened up his home and family to me at a time when I felt alone and friendless. He helped me track down my father's killers. He became my partner. A man never turns his back on his partner. Never. But Ray, while it is true that at one time I felt a certain regard for Ray Vecchio that doesn't mean—" Fraser put a hand back on Ray arm. This time Ray let it stay. "Ray, Ray Vecchio will always be my friend but you—"

"Yeah?" Ray held his breath.

"You will always be—more than my friend," Fraser finished. 

"Yeah?" Ray cocked his head, smiling a little.

"Yes, Ray," Fraser said firmly.

"Okay." Now Ray grinned. "Good. Me too. You're, y'know, more too. Than anyone. Anybody. Ever."

Fraser smiled. Then he took a deep breath. "Raymond Kowalski, would you like to go on an adventure with me?"

"Yeah? What kind of adventure? Will it involve risking my life in wildly dangerous ways?"

"If we're lucky." Now they were both grinning like idiots, Ray realized. "In fact, Ray, I think there's a very good chance we might both wind up dead."

"Is that so. Well, Benton buddy, there's no one else I'd rather end up dead with."

"And I you, Ray. Although—" Fraser suddenly frowned. "I mean, we won't actually be trying to get ourselves killed. It's just that it might happen."

Ray laughed. It sounded a bit giddy to his own ears. "Understood, Fraser. Understood."

**Jealousy**

_Benton Fraser_

The tap on the door was light—not hesitant, but careful—taking into account perhaps the lateness of the hour and the other lodgers who might already be asleep. Normally, Fraser would have been in bed himself—especially given tomorrow's plan and its early start—but the resolution of the Muldoon matter had left them all a bit heady with excitement, and he'd let Sergeant Frobisher persuade him to linger over more than one glass of cider.

"Come in, Ray," he said, examining the straps on his pack and deciding they would hold, despite the signs of wear. "I was thinking— Oh. Ray."

"Lemme guess." Ray Vecchio straightened from where he had slouched in the open doorway. "You were expecting Kowalski."

"Well. Yes," Fraser admitted.

"Yeah." Ray came in and closed the door behind him. "He, Turnbull, and Frobisher are still toasting the health of the Queen." He glanced around. There wasn't a chair that wasn't filled with gear.

"I'm sorry, Ray. Let me move a few things—" He began to clear a chair.

"No, that's fine, Benny. I'm good." Ray leaned back against the chest of drawers, crossing his arms over his chest. He swayed a little.

"You've been drinking," Fraser said with a small smile.

"Yeah. Turns out there's this thing called Canadian whisky. So—" Ray tilted his head in the direction of the bed, where Fraser had carefully laid out blankets, a first aid kit, MREs, and an assortment of other supplies and equipment he and Kowalski would need for their trip north. "I understand you and Kowalski are going on an adventure."

"Yes." He was still bemused by the sudden changes in his future. He was home. He had Ray Kowalski by his side. The road ahead was uncharted, free of any constraints except those they chose to place on themselves. "We're going to search for the Hand of Franklin."

"The hand of who?" Vecchio looked blank.

"The Hand of Sir John Franklin, reaching for the Beaufort Sea." Ray still appeared confused. "Ah. Well, Ray, as the story goes, in 1845 Sir John Franklin set out with two ships in search of the Northwest Passage. When time had passed and there was no word from the expedition, a rescue effort was launched—one of the largest in history—yet no trace of them was found. It was assumed that he and his crew were lost. To this day it remains one of the great mysteries of the Northwest." With any luck, he and Ray would solve it. And even if they didn't—

"And you and Kowalski are gonna go looking for this out-reaching—?"

"Reaching out," Fraser corrected him. "Reaching out hand."

"Yeah. Reaching out hand."

Fraser nodded. "Sergeant Frobisher has been kind enough to gear us up with tack and tallow, and a team. Diefenbaker will lead, of course—"

"Oh, of course."

"—and Ray and I will be setting out in the morning—"

"Actually," Ray interrupted him, "you might want to plan to make that afternoon. Or even the day after. I think Kowalski's going to be pretty hung over in the morning."

Fraser looked closely at him. It must be the hour and the cider affecting him. If Fraser didn't know better, he would think Ray seemed a little smug. "Ah. Well, our plans can be adjusted."

"Yeah." Ray came closer to the bed. "So. You want any help with this?"

Fraser frowned. "I didn't know you had experience with packing supplies for a dog sled expedition, Ray."

"Ah, no." Ray laughed. "No, Benny, can't say as I got dog sled packing experience on my resume. But you ever need help with the Vegas mob, you should give me a call."

"Understood, Ray."

There was an awkward silence. "I guess I should leave you to it then," Ray finally said.

"Yes, thank you, Ray. I do appreciate you stopping by."

"Sure. Sure." Still, Ray made no move to leave. He nodded to himself as if he had made a difficult decision, and walked up to Fraser with a strange determination in his step. His voice, when he spoke, was low. "You take care of yourself, Benny, you hear?" He put the tip of his right forefinger against Fraser's chest and pressed gently. "And if you ever find yourself in Chicago again, you make sure you look me up, right?"

"Of course I will, Ray—"

"And you tell Kowalski—" Ray hesitated, then pressed on. "You tell Kowalski that if he does anything—and I mean anything, okay, Benny? —to hurt you, well, you tell him there ain't no place far enough north that I can't find him and make him sorry for it, you hear?"

"Ray, you're—"

Ray opened his eyes and focused them on Fraser again. "No, you hear me? You hear?"

"I hear, Ray."

"You'll tell him that," Ray insisted.

"I'll—I'll tell him that."

"Okay. That's good then. Then—" Ray faltered. "Then I guess I'd better get out of your way, then, and let you finish packing." He suddenly grinned and picked up a foil package of dried pemmican. "I'm gonna keep one of these, if you don't mind, Benny. To remember you by."

"Ray, it's not as if we'll never see each other again."

"No. No, I know. You're right." Ray took another deep breath. "I'd better go. Goodbye, Benny."

"Goodbye, Ray." Fraser closed his eyes, and he waited until he could hear the quiet sound of Ray closing the door to his own room down the hallway before he began packing again.

**Happy Ending**

_Ray Vecchio_

The damn telephone was ringing. Four o’clock on a Sunday morning and Ray is supposed to sleep until at least eight and then roll over and make love to Stella until ten, and then maybe get up and have a huge breakfast sitting out on his deck, with his nice view of the lake, because damn if bowling alleys weren’t more lucrative than he ever imagined, especially if you got big enough to franchise. Except now the damn phone was ringing and he couldn't ignore it any longer—

"Ray, the phone— " Stella pulled the pillow over her head.

"Yeah, right, baby. Right. The phone." He sat up, yawned, and reached for the receiver. " _What?!_ This better be good—this better be like I just won the freaking lottery because it’s four a.m. whoever the hell you are."

_Ray?_

"Fraser?" There was a burst of static on the line. "Benny, is that you?"

_Yes, Ray—wanted—first—we—_

"What? This connection is lousy, Benny. Say that again."

_Ray and I—hand—_

"Benny, I’m sorry. Maybe you oughta call me back when you get to a better—"

There was another click on the line and suddenly the static cleared. 

_Ray? Can you hear me now?_

"Yeah, Benny, I can hear you just fine."

 _We found it, Ray._

"Found what, Benny?" Ray got out of bed, the phone against his ear, and headed to the kitchen and the coffee maker. "Nirvana? The gold at the end of the rainbow? Jimmy Hoffa?"

 _The Hand of Franklin, Ray._ There was excitement and joy in Fraser's voice. _We found Franklin's hand. The reaching out one. And we just wanted to let you know._


End file.
